Fic: The Price of Love (6/7)
Back to Part 5
* * * DW * * *
After they finished listening to Sam and Singer question the staff, Benny left Dean's office to circulate around and see if he could pick up on anything questionable while everyone prepared for the evening's appointments. Dean sat in his executive chair behind his desk, mentally running though his talent and staff, trying to figure out who could possibly be the weak link.
While they were surprised about Kevin calling the tip line, the fact that he'd spoken on their behalf was gratifying. Dean nodded when Sam asked Kevin to keep his ears open.
"Let's be sure Kevin knows he can come to us as well," Dean instructed Benny.
"Abso-fucking-lutely," Benny replied.
A tap on his door broke Dean's reverie.
"Come in," he said. The door opened, and Puck entered.
Whenever Puck wasn't entertaining, they wore the form of Pookie, the blonde young woman from the original group of hookers that John had won in the poker game. Of course, now they weren't scrawny from being poorly fed, but filled out into a slim woman with a trim figure and delicate features. Their blonde hair was still long and curly, and their big blue eyes looked like those of an innocent girl. Behind that sweet-looking face, though, was a mind savvy from time spent on the streets before John had picked them up. Puck had been a big help with getting Iniquity up and running, herding the talent around, helping with training, and they were completely loyal to Dean for saving them from the streets.
"What's up?" Dean asked, gesturing for Puck to sit down.
"A lot of the others are kind of on edge about all this questioning and investigating going on," Puck answered, sinking into the chair facing the desk. "I'm trying to defuse their nerves, but some reassurance that things are stable wouldn't go amiss."
"Noted. Good idea, thanks," Dean replied. "Listen, be sure to let me know if you sense anything hinky going on, okay? I'm not entirely sure what's going on, but between you, me, and Benny, there's a possibility that someone's using Iniquity somehow for their own illegal purposes."
"Really!" Puck exclaimed. "Damn, they're fools if they are. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you." They shook their head disapprovingly. "You got it, Boss. I hear anything, you'll hear it. Do you have any idea who it might be? And what do you suspect is happening?"
"I don't really have answers to either of those questions yet." Dean sighed. "I'm just getting more and more of a feeling that something is happening under my roof, if not under my nose. Between the suspicion and the not knowing, it's making me pretty cranky."
"We'll figure it out," Puck said firmly. "Let me know if you need me to be anyone."
"Thanks, Puck." Dean smiled at them. "You're a peach. You booked tonight?"
"Yes, I'm doing some role play along with Sean for the Romans." She made a face."They aren't my favorite. There's always something kind of cold and snakey about him, and she's always putting on airs but really she's a sleazy, kinky bitch with an accent." They laughed.
"Wow, okay! Well, have as much fun as you can, and yeah, just keep an eye out." Dean got up and went over to puck, pulling them up into a hug. "Thanks, baby."
* * * DW * * *
"You caught Dad doing what?" asked Dean incredulously.
"Who, not what," Sam retorted. "He was fucking Pookie up one side and down the other. God, Dean, it was so--gross."
Dean scoffed. "Hey, bad as it was for you, had to be worse for poor Pook." Sam couldn't keep back a laugh.
"Sam?" A soft voice came from behind them, as they stood in the parking lot by the Impala. "Um, can I. . .can I talk to you?"
Dean looked at Sam and saw pink flare in his cheeks. He knew Sam had to be super embarrassed at facing Pookie now, with having just seen their father plowing her. God knows what Pookie was feeling.
"Oh God, Pookie, um. . .I. . ." Sam stuttered.
"Hey, Pookie. Sam's sorry for busting in on you and uh, our dad there. He didn't know." Dean sailed in, hoping to alleviate everyone's discomfiture by calling a spade a spade.
"Oh, no, no. It's not his fault at all. I tried to put John off, or get him to move to one of our rooms, but, um. . ." She shrugged. "It's not like he really listens to us."
"Yeah, he doesn't really listen to us either," Dean replied, and they exchanged a knowing smile.
"Yeah, I just wanted to apologize," Pookie said. "'No' isn't a word that figures into a hooker's vocabulary."
Dean felt shocked, although when he thought about it, he could see why that was. "God, that's--horrible. I'm so sorry." He grimaced. "I promise, as much as I can control what happens to y'all, you'll be allowed--I mean, saying no is okay."
Pookie looked at him with the eyes of a much older person in her twenty-year-old face. "Sure. Thanks."
"Pookie, did he, um. . .force himself--?" Sam stopped. Dean felt sick. How do you ask someone if your dad raped them?
"Oh, no, nothing like that. He was interested, and I--well, you know, he's taking care of us now. We're in rooms instead of squatting, getting fed regular, and we don't get beat up no more. I thought it would be polite." She smiled at them, and Dean was struck by how much sweetness still remained in this young woman, despite her rocky life so far.
"More polite than I woulda been," murmured Sam.
"Yeah. Listen, Pook, you don't have to um, be polite with him anymore, okay? I promise. Or us. Don't worry that we're gonna look for any, uh, hand-outs. Or hand jobs." Dean tried to lighten the air with a bad joke. He stuck out his hand to shake on it.
Pookie looked at it without understanding. Then it dawned on her what Dean was doing. "Oh, wow, well. . . okay." She took his big paw in her little hand and they shook gravely. "While we're talking, could I ask--" She broke off, looking cutely flustered.
"Anything, Pook." Dean smiled at her.
"I don't like being called Pookie. It's my hooker name, my street name, y'know? But I don't really know any other name. I've always been just Pookie."
Sam gaped at her. "That's awful! How do you not know your name?"
She shrugged again. "I think my mom used to call me that as a pet name, but then it just got picked up as my street name. And besides, I've been a lot of people so whatever."
Sam and Dean looked at each other, puzzled by her words.
"Been a lot of people?"
"Uh-huh." She tilted her head. "Oh, you don't know then. I guess John didn't tell you?" She smiled. "Welp, okay. Showtime."
Pookie rubbed her face with her hands. Dean thought it was like she was erasing her face, because it got blurry and her features became indistinct. Then she wriggled all over, like a dog shaking water off, and when she stopped--
Dean stood there, looking at Sam and. . . Dean.
"What the fuck!" Dean yelled.
"Seriously, what the fuck," Sam echoed.
"I'm a shapeshifter," Pookie said simply. She rubbed her face and wriggled again, and there stood petite, blonde girl-Pookie again.
"I thought shapeshifters--isn't there like, slobbery skin-peeling stuff?" Sam asked curiously. Dean was still reeling with being face-to-face with himself.
"Yeah, that's a different species. And that wet peeling stuff is so gross! I'm so glad I'm like this instead." She giggled. "No fuss, no muss."
"Wow," Dean said succinctly. "Um. . . wow."
"So I can be whoever anyone dreams of. If they don't want this form, I can change for them. But anyway, so can I not be Pookie anymore? I kinda liked it when you shortened it to Pook, but even that isn't--"
"How about Puck?" Sam blurted out.
Dean and Pookie stared at him. "What?"
"Puck. It's a character from a Shakespeare play, a fairie with magical abilities. And it's kinda short and sounds a bit like Pook, so it's not too alien to switch to." Sam gestured at Pookie. "Is this the real you?"
"Yes, this is me without any shifting. But I don't really think of myself as a girl or a woman. I'm everyone. Everything." She spread her hands wide. "It always feels kinda weird when people say she when they mean me, because it doesn't fit."
"Okay, so what about this--we won't call you 'she' or 'her' anymore. How do you feel about us using 'they' and 'them' instead? I've read about people who are unsure of their identity or don't identify as male or female, and that was what they preferred to have used about them," Sam explained.
"I love it! Then I'm not locked into one or the other. Because, I'm not!" They spun around happily. "Oh! And yes. I love the name Puck!"
The next moment, Dean found himself with an armful of excited Puck hugging him. Then they tore themselves away and hugged Sam.
"Thank you guys so much!" They laughed.
"You're welcome," Sam smiled at them in return.
"As Humphrey Bogart once said, 'I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship'," Dean said. "Now let's go find out about getting some dinner."
* * * SW * * *
Henriksen walked into the police station conference room where Sam, Crowley, and Singer were waiting. The three men already had coffee cups in front of them, and Henriksen stopped by the beat-up Mr. Coffee on the side table to pour himself a cup. Tasting it, he grimaced.
"Man, that's crap."
"Yep," answered Singer. "Only the finest for the men in blue."
Henriksen sat down and plopped a folder down in front of him on the table. He sighed.
"These are all the transcripts from the Iniquity staff interviews." He tapped the folder. "Wanna know what we found out?"
"Squat." Singer's voice was flat.
"Yep. Squat." Henriksen took a deep breath and leaned forward with a frown. "Fucking nothing, gentlemen. Nothing. We're at a standstill on this fucking mess."
Sam looked at him, struck afresh by Henriksen's formidable presence. This guy could get very scary very fast, he thought.
Singer spoke in a level voice. "Sam and I think we're going to get--"
"Fuck that! You're getting shit, and you know it!" Henriksen's voice dropped to a menacing growl. "Dean Winchester--"
"It's not Dean!" Sam burst out, surprising himself along with the others. He took a deep breath to regain his control before continuing. "We're starting to think it might not be him behind this. We think someone is dealing drugs inside Iniquity without his knowledge." Henriksen's burning gaze landed on Sam. It made him nervous, but he steeled himself to meet that gaze head-on. "It makes sense as to why this investigation has stalled. We're looking at the wrong person."
A few beats passed. Henriksen sat back and sipped his coffee. "Okay. I'm listening."
* * * DW * * *
"Dean, could we go out for coffee?" Puck asked in a lilting voice, sticking their head around Dean's office door. "I need me some pie! Take me out for pie, please?" They batted their eyes.
Pie was the word that Puck and Dean had agreed on to signify when they needed to speak alone. With not knowing who was involved in the possible drug dealing situation, they didn't want to chance speaking in rooms where they might be overheard or that could be bugged.
Clearly Puck was anxious to speak with Dean, so he put down the papers he'd been studying and gave them a big smile.
"Of course! I'm ready for a coffee break. Let's go to--"
"I heard Ellen's Roadhouse Diner has great pie," Puck interrupted. "I've never been there."
Dean gave them a sharp look, which they returned innocently.
"You got it. Let's go," he said and ushered them out.
They didn't speak until they were seated in one of Ellen's comfortable booths. Steaming cups of coffee sat next to slices of apple pie, the fruit and cinnamon bouquet smelling delicious. Dean hadn't thought he was hungry, but he couldn't resist digging in.
"Okay, so what's up?" he asked after he'd savored the first couple of forkfuls. Puck likewise was enjoying their pie, judging by their blissful expression.
"Wow, this is as good as Kevin promised!" they said. They wiped their mouth with a napkin and took a sip of coffee. "Alright, here's the scoop. I had that scene with Sean and ah, Mr. Snakey and spouse." They winked at Dean. "It was fine, everyone got their happy ending."
"Well, we do aim to please," Dean drawled, and they both laughed. "Go on, sorry."
Puck put their fork down. "When they were leaving, Mr. Snake gave something to Sean. It was some fancy wrapped box, and he handed it to Sean and said, "For your fine work." Mrs. Snake was getting dressed and not paying attention, plus I was helping her find her shoes." Puck snickered. "Things had gotten kinda frisky and she'd kicked them off somewhere."
"Ah, Puck, always the people pleaser," Dean interjected. Puck laughed and gave him a little kick under the table.
"Seriously, though! I asked Sean later about it, because I thought, hey, if it's a tip, I get some. But he just snapped at me and said something about it was personal between him and the Snake."
Dean sat back. "Okay, I get what you're saying here. But what if it was just something personal? Like, um, a new cock cage or something?"
"Ugh! I hate those," Puck grimaced. "Now a nice butt plug, that's fine." They giggled. "You are always great about letting us receive and keep gifts from our clients, but this just made my spidey sense tingle. Like, if it was a sexy toy, Sean would just have laughed it off or shown it to me. Instead, he was all snappy and brittle."
"Hmm," Dean mused. "Sean is usually pretty easy-going. Okay, it's a little weird." He picked at the remains of his pie.
"Right! So here's my idea. Next appointment with Sean and Mr. Snakey, have me take it. As Sean." Puck sat back and took the last enormous forkful of their pie, chewing with a pleased expression.
"Oh, Puck, no." Dean shook his head. "That's too dangerous, if something illegal is actually happening."
"No, I'll be fine." Puck pushed their empty plate away. "Even if he figures out what's going on, which he won't, he's too tight-ass to do anything physical. Besides, you can put extra warding on the room ahead of time, just to be sure. But also have a camera going." For a second, they looked almost feral. "No one is fucking around with my family or my home."
* * * SW * * *
Sam sat on a park bench pretending to be idly observing the people and the birds. He casually smoothed his hands over his jacket and loosened his tie, like someone enjoying a break from their office. He hoped he looked relaxed, because that was the farthest thing from how he felt at the moment.
Dean had texted him earlier that morning, while Sam was still on his first latte.
Need to meet and talk ASAP. Outside, can't risk being overheard.
Sam frowned at his phone. What was going on now? What could Dean have to tell him, and what was up with the cloak and dagger?
Fuck, this just gets messier every day,he thought grimly. He ignored the small thrill he'd gotten when he saw Dean's name come up. Lately, it felt like Sam was becoming more sensitized to Dean again, every contact tingling his nerve endings, like when they were--
Move along, bucko.
Sam texted back, suggesting the park for a lunch rendezvous and mentioning a particular bench that was set on a small rise some yards away from the park's pathway. In plain sight, but away from prying ears.
Cool. I'll bring lunch, Dean replied.
Now Sam sat and waited somewhat anxiously for his impromptu lunch date.
Dean appeared on the path as it wound out from the trees. He looked relaxed as he approached the bench, strolling along like he had no cares in the world. A handled brown paper bag that bore the logo of The Roadhouse dangled from one hand, and Sam's stomach grumbled in response. He hadn't been able to eat after receiving Dean's text, and it was ready for some of Ellen's home cooking.
"Hey, glad you could get together," Dean said, plopping onto the bench. He waggled the bag. "I brought lunch, just like I promised." Putting the bag down to one side, he reached in it and pulled out two cardboard take-out containers. He handed one to Sam and placed the other in front of himself.
"What--" Sam said, but Dean interrupted him.
"Chicken Caesar salad, no anchovies. And a bottle of sparkling water." Dean produced napkins and plastic forks. "Lunch is served."
Sam opened his container and practically drooled at the contents. The salad boasted chunks of grilled chicken atop crisp greens, with a little container of dressing tucked into the side. The container was split, so the golden fries, dusted with salt, were kept separate from the moist salad.
"Wow, this looks amazing. Thank you." Sam wasted no time digging in.
"You bet," Dean said. "I know it's been a long time, but I figured I remembered what you like." He opened his own container and grinned at the plump cheeseburger inside, crispy bacon ends sticking out from underneath the bun. "Yeah, baby, come to Papa!"
Sam snorted, resolutely ignoring how Dean's lustful appreciation of his lunch had made Sam's dick twitch. He mentally scolded his errant member--he was really going to have to get past this whole prurient-flashback thing.
They ate for a few minutes, a companionable silence between them. With all the tension and conflict in their present-day interactions, Sam had forgotten how easy it was to just be around Dean. Now, in this at least temporary lull, it was restful.
Dean finished his last bite and sighed happily. Sam laughed.
"Hey," Dean huffed. "I was hungry."
"Yeah, me too. So much is going on, I'm forgetting to actually take time to eat. Or else my stomach can't deal with the thought of food." Sam grimaced.
Dean's face sobered. "Yeah, I hear you. We gotta talk now. I thought we could use a break for a few minutes there, but shit is going down and we need to put our heads together." He wiped his hands and dropped the napkin into his empty container, picking the whole thing up and putting it back into the brown paper bag.
Sam did the same. As he dropped the container into the bag, he looked at Dean. A slight smear of bacon grease lingered on Dean's bottom lip. Sam's breath caught at seeing that shine on the plump pink swell of Dean's mouth. Without a conscious decision, Sam reached out and ran the pad of his thumb over Dean's lip. It was soft and yielding under the pressure, and Sam almost groaned aloud from the desire that surged through him.
Dean's eyes went wide and he froze, staring at Sam. Then he jerked away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Oh, god, uh . . . you had . . . " Sam stammered.
"Uh, gotcha," Dean mumbled, turning away to put the bag on the ground at his feet. When he turned back, his face was without expression.
Oh great, way to go, asshole, Sam chastised himself. "Sorry, man, I. . . "
"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. Listen, I came here to tell you something important." Dean was clearly all business again, his jaw tense and his eyes shuttered.
"Yeah, of course. Go ahead." Sam tried to quell the thrumming inside him from the soft heat of Dean's tempting mouth and pay attention to his brother's words.
"We--my senior staff and I--think there is in fact drug dealing going on inside Iniquity. But I'm not involved and I didn't know about it." Dean frowned. "That being said, I don't hold with it and I won't stand for it in my house."
"Okay, noted." Sam gave a short nod.
Dean continued without acknowledging Sam's response. "Our current theory is that a regular client is bringing the drugs into Iniquity and using one of my people to disperse them." Dean's frown deepened. "I hate to think someone I've taken in, someone I trusted, would do that, but I'm not stupid. I'm not going to ignore evidence."
Sam nodded again to show he was following along."Do you have any suspicions or ideas who it is doing either end of the job?"
"Yes." Dean looked away, and Sam felt sympathy for his pain. The betrayal from one of his own people had to sting. "On our end, we think it's a man called Sean. You met him the night you came in to throw down your gauntlet."
Sam recalled Sean, a big redheaded man who'd eyed Sam lasciviously. "Yeah, I remember him. And the one bringing it in?"
Dean's eyes returned to Sam's, the intensity of his gaze palpable.
"The Honorable Judge Richard Roman."
* * * DW * * *
Dean looked at the HD television mounted on the side wall of his office. Currently, it showed a lovely bedroom furnished with a king-size bed, an armoire, and a comfortable armchair next to a small coffee table. Deep burgundy bed linens matched the burgundy leather of the armchair and contrasted warmly with the cream-papered walls. All of the wood in the room was black, including the St. Andrews cross in the far corner.
The room was empty, but Dean knew that was about to change. This room was the set where Sean would be entertaining Dick Roman, AKA the Honorable Richard Roman, an esteemed judge on the bench. Roman was a regular customer at Iniquity, and his constant business had helped harden Dean's attitude about 'justice' and 'morality'. Dean felt that justice meant bad guys getting punished and morality meant you were honest and didn't harm others as far as you could help. That the judge, among many other civil servants, chose to indulge his sexual appetites with prostitutes didn't make him a bad person. That he pretended to be happily married to his equally mendacious wife did. Additionally, now, he might be dealing dangerous and illegal substances under Dean's unknowing nose, under Dean's roof. That definitely made him a bad guy.
And Dean was out to prove it.
"When's he going to get here?" grumbled Benny, shifting uneasily on Dean's couch.
"Any minute now," Madison answered. "He's very punctual." She'd insisted on being present for the show. "I'm responsible for my people," she'd told Dean firmly. "I need to know what is going on." He'd acquiesced, with a caveat.
"You are not going to enter that room no matter what. That's up to Benny and me, if necessary." He gave her a stern look. "If you can agree to that, you can stay."
She hadn't looked happy, but she'd nodded. "Understood."
Dean couldn't stay seated, jumping up from his chair to pace around his office, then sitting again for five minutes.
"Merde, would you stop that stupid pacing!" Benny snapped. Dean jerked his head around and looked at his lieutenant. Benny was ordinarily one of the mellowest people he knew, so clearly the stress was getting to him as much as Dean. He walked back to his chair and dropped down into it.
"Sorry."
Benny waved a hand. "I apologize, my brother. I just--" he grimaced.
"I hear you," Dean replied grimly.
Madison got up and went to the sidebar, pouring all three of them a stiff drink. Bringing them back to their seats, she handed one to each man and took a gulp of her own.
"I know we need clear minds, but we also need to not kill each other in the meantime," she commented with a wry grin.
Dean snorted and took a drink. He looked up when Kevin entered the room. It turned out that Kevin, a whip-smart Advanced Placement student, had a good bit of technical know-how, and he'd been invaluable with setting up the equipment to record that night's action.
"We're all set," Kevin said. "The camera is hidden in the painting." He smiled. "I put it in her eye."
On the wall where the camera was located, facing the bed and cross, hung a copy of Amadeo Modigliani's Reclining Nude, where a beautiful naked woman with creamy skin and black hair lay seductively on a red blanket.
All of them chuckled over Kevin's clever camera placement. Dean tousled the young man's hair.
"You did good."
They settled back in their seats, Kevin taking a seat cross-legged on the floor by Benny.
A few more minutes passed, and then the door of the bugged room opened. Sean entered, followed by Dick Roman. A slight man to begin with, Dick looked even slighter next to the tall, muscular Sean.
"Wonder what he likes to do?" Benny mused.
Dean actually hadn't thought about that. He'd been so focused on nailing the drug smuggling that he'd forgotten he'd have to watch Dick having sex with Sean, or in this case, Puck masquerading as Sean.
"Ugh," he groaned, letting his head drop back onto the couch. "I'm going to need another drink."
* * * SW * * *
"Hey, Sam--why don't you come on over here for that drink?" Dean's voice sounded casual over the phone. Only Sam wasn't supposed to meet Dean for any drink that he knew of, which made his spidey-sense tingle immediately. Dean was trying to tell him something.
"Uh, sure? When's good for you?" he answered in the same casual way.
"Now's good. Use the back entrance, there might be something stuck to the front door. Bring a friend, there's plenty for everybody." The call ended.
Sam stared at his phone. Something stuck to the front door--that was from the old 'stuck to my shoe' code phrase. They'd used that when one of them was being followed, back when they had to elude truant officers or other pursuers. So someone was following Dean? Or maybe spying on him, hence the back door.
Grabbing his suit jacket off the coat hook he'd slung it on earlier, Sam went out to Jo's desk.
"Do you know where Henriksen is?"
She blinked at him. "Um, I think he's in the task room, going over things again."
"Great." Sam put on his jacket. "Listen, I have to go out. But don't tell anyone I'm out, alright?"
Jo tilted her head, looking somewhat confused. "Where will I tell them you are then?"
"Oh, right. Uh, okay, tell them I had a doctor's appointment I forgot about, but I'll be back in a couple of hours."
"Oookay. Where are you really going?" Now she looked worried. "It's not like you to fake where you are like this. Is everything alright?"
"God, I hope so," Sam said fervently. "I hope this is going to clear a lot of things up." Ignoring that he hadn't answered her question, he strode out the door.
Henriksen was indeed in the task room, poring over some files and jotting down notes. He looked up at Sam's hasty entrance.
"There a fire somewhere, Winchester?"
"No sir." Henriksen looked puzzled. Sam rushed on. "I have a doctor's appointment I forgot to note it down on the schedule. I need to discuss it with you. It's, um, a personal matter." He put a finger to his ear and then to his lips. Henriksen's face cleared and he responded with a short nod.
"Of course. Why don't we go get a cup of coffee and you can tell me about it privately," he answered casually. Henriksen got up and followed Sam out the door and out of the building.
Sam drove them to Iniquity, parking around the back of the building.
"I don't know what's up exactly, but it sounds like Dean's got news, and he doesn't want anyone to know. I think he's worried about being bugged or something."
"Got it," replied Henriksen.
They got out of the car and went to the back entrance. Dean was already there waiting for them. He opened the door and beckoned them inside.
"I have a video recording for you to see." Dean motioned for them to follow him, leading them to his office. He gestured to the couch and they sat down. Dean remained standing, holding a remote in his hand.
"Okay, so we--me, Madison, and Benny-- were brainstorming about the theory that drugs are being brought in here and handed off to one of my people for dispersal. I'm furious about that, but that's not the issue right now. We got a lead from inside and so I set up a, well, I guess a sting." He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "Sam, you remember Puck, right?"
Startled to hear that name, Sam said, "Yeah, of course. Do they still work for you?"
"Yes. In fact, they've helped bring a couple of other shapeshifters on board."
"Shapeshifters!" Henriksen exclaimed. "I didn't know you had shapeshifters working here."
"Yes, but that's not the point. We had a suspicion of which client was working with which of my people, so Puck masqueraded as the talent in question for an engagement with the client." Dean waved a hand toward the television. "That's what I have on tape. Because we were right."
The television screen came to life. Sam saw Sean, the redhead from his earlier contretemps at the Iniquity bar, enter the tastefully decorated bedroom. Following him was a shorter, slighter man with dark hair and an excellent suit. He was carrying a slim metal briefcase, which he put down at the foot of the bed. Sean turned around and knelt down at the dark-haired man's feet, bending down to kiss his shoes.
"Oh man, really?" Victor said with distaste.
Dean shrugged. "Everyone's got their own thing. This man's kink is control. The turn-on isn't his shoes being kissed, it's that he can make the man do it."
"Okay," Victor replied. "Still don't like it."
"Shh. Who is that guy? Something looks familiar about him." Sam leaned forward, studying the television intently. The trim form, the smooth dark hair--
"Rise," said the dark-haired man, and Sean stood up. "Undress." Sean began to remove his clothing. As he did, the dark-haired man came further into the room, walking over to an armoire on the far wall. Opening it, he took something out.
“Ah, are we going to watch these two have sex? Is that pertinent to the case?” Victor asked.
“No,” Dean answered. “I'm going to fast forward.” He grimaced. “Believe me, be glad I’m sparing you that.”
Sam shuddered.
The video turned into streaky, unidentifiable images as Dean fast-forwarded. A few moments later, he clicked again and the screen cleared. Sean was now naked, sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed. The dark-haired man, his back to the camera, was already back in his clothes, for which small mercy Sam was grateful. Then the man turned around and went over to the metal briefcase and opened it.
Sam gasped, speechless.
"Oh my God," breathed Henriksen. "It's Judge Roman."
Dick Roman removed a wrapped package about the size of a shirt box from the briefcase and handed it to Sean, who nodded and took it.
"I'll tell booking to set up an appointment for us for next week." Roman closed the briefcase. "You were exceptionally good tonight, Sean. I'll leave a tip with Madison."
"Thank you, sir." Sean dropped onto the floor on his knees. "It's my pleasure to please you."
"Good boy," Roman said, and walked out the door.
Sean remained on his knees for a count of ten. Raising his head, he winked at the camera.
* * * SW * * *
"May I have your attention, please," Henriksen spoke authoritatively into the microphone placed on the police podium. He, Police Chief Singer, Crowley, and Sam were assembled on the steps of the courthouse for a press conference. Various media people were arrayed a few steps down with an arsenal of video cameras and microphones aimed at the podium. Sam stood slightly off to one side, listening to Henriksen speak but watching the crowd. His suit felt stifling, like a well-tailored straitjacket.
"Is it true that you're investigating Judge Richard Roman?" a reporter yelled out. A buzz of comments and questions from the other reporters swelled, and Sam heard Roman's name repeated again and again.
"Please! Quiet down," Henriksen ordered, raising one hand. As silence fell, he put his hand back down and answered, "Yes, we have opened an investigation into possible improper conduct by Judge Roman, including criminal charges. We're still pursuing an investigation into a death at the house of prostitution known as Iniquity, and in the course of that, found the possibility of significant judicial malfeasance. I now turn to Police Chief Robert Singer to update us on the investigation of the untimely death of Alicia Banes, and what evidence has been brought to light so far along those lines."
He turned to Singer and gestured to the mic. Singer stepped forward and cleared his throat. For all that Sam had grown up seeing Singer in his police uniform and now the suits he wore as chief, he noted how Singer never looked comfortable in them, preferring instead the worn flannel shirts, blue jeans, and ratty ball cap he favored on his days off.
"Now y'all know I hate this kind of dog and pony show," Singer began. "The death of Alicia Banes looks to be more a matter of unfortunate circumstances rather than murder or even manslaughter. Her demise was not due to criminal activities or hostile intent, but rather being caught in crossfire during the search for the truth." A murmur ran through the reporters. "What's more pressing is the uncovering of this alleged judicial misconduct that reaches into the highest level of our legal system. Despite the big names and high profiles involved, I assure you that the police department is conducting a thorough investigation as we would with anyone charged with this kind of illegal and frankly unsavory behavior." He paused. "I'm not taking any questions at this time. When we know more, you'll know more."
He stepped back, and Crowley moved forward for his turn. He growled as he had to lower the mic to compensate for his short stature, glaring at everyone in general.
"Ahem, yes. Thank you." He cleared his throat. "We at the District Attorney's office are greatly perturbed about these allegations concerning Judge Roman. These are serious charges indeed, and we are treating them as such. We'll be cooperating and coordinating with the police inquiry in any way we can. Furthermore, we're prepared to take any necessary legal action, regardless of the perpetrator's standing, following the results of that investigation."
He adjusted the knot of his tie while he looked over the reporters. Sam knew Crowley liked to gauge the reaction to his words so he could tailor them to the listeners. With a certain grim amusement, Sam noted how Crowley was even preening a bit as he resumed speaking.
"As District Attorney, I assure you that I had no inkling of any improper conduct transpiring. I vow to see that our legal bench is cleaned up. There's no room for back door deals or favoritism resulting in any criminal capacity in this city. I will see that it's cleaned up and that it stays clean!" He nodded as a pattering of applause broke out and stepped back.
Holy shit, is he prepping a campaign announcement here? Sam thought in amazement. He wouldn't put it past Crowley--the man had brass balls.
Henriksen was back at the mic now.
"Thank you for attending here today. Again, we will not be taking questions at this time, due to the sensitive and timely nature of our investigations. We'll update you when we have further developments." He waved briefly and moved away from the mic.
The reporters milled around a bit, making Sam think of ants circling while they looked for crumbs. Crowley headed back inside the building, walking slowly so that, Sam was sure, any reporters could easily catch up with him. A couple of them passed by Sam just then, and sure enough, they approached Crowley with questions. Sam shook his head at the smug look on Crowley's face. It was utterly distasteful.
What an asshole. Readying to lobby for a judgeship on the back of Alicia's dead body. Sam felt queasy at the spectacle.
He turned away in disgust and saw Henriksen talking quietly with Singer off to the side of the steps. Singer nodded as he listened, and Henriksen clapped him on the shoulder before turning to walk away.
Sam started to walk over to Singer, curious as to what they'd discussed. Henriksen went down the steps and approached a black car parked by the curb, opening the passenger door and climbing in. The door shut with the heavy sound of an armored car. Sam figured that was standard operating procedure for feds. He watched the car start and begin to pull smoothly into traffic.
A searing tower of red and orange flames erupted from the car, accompanied by a thunderous blast. Great clouds of thick black smoke billowed into the clear blue sky. Sam gasped, momentarily paralyzed by shock, and then he ran toward the car, only to be held back by one of the reporters.
"You can't--it's too hot! Wait for the fire trucks!" the reporter shouted. Sam struggled against him, his instinct to try and rescue the men inside the burning car driving him forward, but the reporter's grip was strong.
"Henriksen--" Sam said, his throat constricting around the word.
"He's already dead." The reporter's voice sounded calm, but when Sam looked at him, he saw the pain of that statement on the man's face. "I saw IEPs go off like this overseas. They--they're ash by now. He didn't have a chance."
He released Sam and ran over to the nearby bushes where he vomited. Sam felt like throwing up as well, but he made himself watch the blazing car.
I have to bear witness to this . . . he thought numbly. We got too close.
The smoke billowed on while Sam vowed that he was going to get whoever was behind Henriksen's ugly, needless death.
On to Part 7
* * * DW * * *
After they finished listening to Sam and Singer question the staff, Benny left Dean's office to circulate around and see if he could pick up on anything questionable while everyone prepared for the evening's appointments. Dean sat in his executive chair behind his desk, mentally running though his talent and staff, trying to figure out who could possibly be the weak link.
While they were surprised about Kevin calling the tip line, the fact that he'd spoken on their behalf was gratifying. Dean nodded when Sam asked Kevin to keep his ears open.
"Let's be sure Kevin knows he can come to us as well," Dean instructed Benny.
"Abso-fucking-lutely," Benny replied.
A tap on his door broke Dean's reverie.
"Come in," he said. The door opened, and Puck entered.
Whenever Puck wasn't entertaining, they wore the form of Pookie, the blonde young woman from the original group of hookers that John had won in the poker game. Of course, now they weren't scrawny from being poorly fed, but filled out into a slim woman with a trim figure and delicate features. Their blonde hair was still long and curly, and their big blue eyes looked like those of an innocent girl. Behind that sweet-looking face, though, was a mind savvy from time spent on the streets before John had picked them up. Puck had been a big help with getting Iniquity up and running, herding the talent around, helping with training, and they were completely loyal to Dean for saving them from the streets.
"What's up?" Dean asked, gesturing for Puck to sit down.
"A lot of the others are kind of on edge about all this questioning and investigating going on," Puck answered, sinking into the chair facing the desk. "I'm trying to defuse their nerves, but some reassurance that things are stable wouldn't go amiss."
"Noted. Good idea, thanks," Dean replied. "Listen, be sure to let me know if you sense anything hinky going on, okay? I'm not entirely sure what's going on, but between you, me, and Benny, there's a possibility that someone's using Iniquity somehow for their own illegal purposes."
"Really!" Puck exclaimed. "Damn, they're fools if they are. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you." They shook their head disapprovingly. "You got it, Boss. I hear anything, you'll hear it. Do you have any idea who it might be? And what do you suspect is happening?"
"I don't really have answers to either of those questions yet." Dean sighed. "I'm just getting more and more of a feeling that something is happening under my roof, if not under my nose. Between the suspicion and the not knowing, it's making me pretty cranky."
"We'll figure it out," Puck said firmly. "Let me know if you need me to be anyone."
"Thanks, Puck." Dean smiled at them. "You're a peach. You booked tonight?"
"Yes, I'm doing some role play along with Sean for the Romans." She made a face."They aren't my favorite. There's always something kind of cold and snakey about him, and she's always putting on airs but really she's a sleazy, kinky bitch with an accent." They laughed.
"Wow, okay! Well, have as much fun as you can, and yeah, just keep an eye out." Dean got up and went over to puck, pulling them up into a hug. "Thanks, baby."
* * * DW * * *
"You caught Dad doing what?" asked Dean incredulously.
"Who, not what," Sam retorted. "He was fucking Pookie up one side and down the other. God, Dean, it was so--gross."
Dean scoffed. "Hey, bad as it was for you, had to be worse for poor Pook." Sam couldn't keep back a laugh.
"Sam?" A soft voice came from behind them, as they stood in the parking lot by the Impala. "Um, can I. . .can I talk to you?"
Dean looked at Sam and saw pink flare in his cheeks. He knew Sam had to be super embarrassed at facing Pookie now, with having just seen their father plowing her. God knows what Pookie was feeling.
"Oh God, Pookie, um. . .I. . ." Sam stuttered.
"Hey, Pookie. Sam's sorry for busting in on you and uh, our dad there. He didn't know." Dean sailed in, hoping to alleviate everyone's discomfiture by calling a spade a spade.
"Oh, no, no. It's not his fault at all. I tried to put John off, or get him to move to one of our rooms, but, um. . ." She shrugged. "It's not like he really listens to us."
"Yeah, he doesn't really listen to us either," Dean replied, and they exchanged a knowing smile.
"Yeah, I just wanted to apologize," Pookie said. "'No' isn't a word that figures into a hooker's vocabulary."
Dean felt shocked, although when he thought about it, he could see why that was. "God, that's--horrible. I'm so sorry." He grimaced. "I promise, as much as I can control what happens to y'all, you'll be allowed--I mean, saying no is okay."
Pookie looked at him with the eyes of a much older person in her twenty-year-old face. "Sure. Thanks."
"Pookie, did he, um. . .force himself--?" Sam stopped. Dean felt sick. How do you ask someone if your dad raped them?
"Oh, no, nothing like that. He was interested, and I--well, you know, he's taking care of us now. We're in rooms instead of squatting, getting fed regular, and we don't get beat up no more. I thought it would be polite." She smiled at them, and Dean was struck by how much sweetness still remained in this young woman, despite her rocky life so far.
"More polite than I woulda been," murmured Sam.
"Yeah. Listen, Pook, you don't have to um, be polite with him anymore, okay? I promise. Or us. Don't worry that we're gonna look for any, uh, hand-outs. Or hand jobs." Dean tried to lighten the air with a bad joke. He stuck out his hand to shake on it.
Pookie looked at it without understanding. Then it dawned on her what Dean was doing. "Oh, wow, well. . . okay." She took his big paw in her little hand and they shook gravely. "While we're talking, could I ask--" She broke off, looking cutely flustered.
"Anything, Pook." Dean smiled at her.
"I don't like being called Pookie. It's my hooker name, my street name, y'know? But I don't really know any other name. I've always been just Pookie."
Sam gaped at her. "That's awful! How do you not know your name?"
She shrugged again. "I think my mom used to call me that as a pet name, but then it just got picked up as my street name. And besides, I've been a lot of people so whatever."
Sam and Dean looked at each other, puzzled by her words.
"Been a lot of people?"
"Uh-huh." She tilted her head. "Oh, you don't know then. I guess John didn't tell you?" She smiled. "Welp, okay. Showtime."
Pookie rubbed her face with her hands. Dean thought it was like she was erasing her face, because it got blurry and her features became indistinct. Then she wriggled all over, like a dog shaking water off, and when she stopped--
Dean stood there, looking at Sam and. . . Dean.
"What the fuck!" Dean yelled.
"Seriously, what the fuck," Sam echoed.
"I'm a shapeshifter," Pookie said simply. She rubbed her face and wriggled again, and there stood petite, blonde girl-Pookie again.
"I thought shapeshifters--isn't there like, slobbery skin-peeling stuff?" Sam asked curiously. Dean was still reeling with being face-to-face with himself.
"Yeah, that's a different species. And that wet peeling stuff is so gross! I'm so glad I'm like this instead." She giggled. "No fuss, no muss."
"Wow," Dean said succinctly. "Um. . . wow."
"So I can be whoever anyone dreams of. If they don't want this form, I can change for them. But anyway, so can I not be Pookie anymore? I kinda liked it when you shortened it to Pook, but even that isn't--"
"How about Puck?" Sam blurted out.
Dean and Pookie stared at him. "What?"
"Puck. It's a character from a Shakespeare play, a fairie with magical abilities. And it's kinda short and sounds a bit like Pook, so it's not too alien to switch to." Sam gestured at Pookie. "Is this the real you?"
"Yes, this is me without any shifting. But I don't really think of myself as a girl or a woman. I'm everyone. Everything." She spread her hands wide. "It always feels kinda weird when people say she when they mean me, because it doesn't fit."
"Okay, so what about this--we won't call you 'she' or 'her' anymore. How do you feel about us using 'they' and 'them' instead? I've read about people who are unsure of their identity or don't identify as male or female, and that was what they preferred to have used about them," Sam explained.
"I love it! Then I'm not locked into one or the other. Because, I'm not!" They spun around happily. "Oh! And yes. I love the name Puck!"
The next moment, Dean found himself with an armful of excited Puck hugging him. Then they tore themselves away and hugged Sam.
"Thank you guys so much!" They laughed.
"You're welcome," Sam smiled at them in return.
"As Humphrey Bogart once said, 'I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship'," Dean said. "Now let's go find out about getting some dinner."
* * * SW * * *
Henriksen walked into the police station conference room where Sam, Crowley, and Singer were waiting. The three men already had coffee cups in front of them, and Henriksen stopped by the beat-up Mr. Coffee on the side table to pour himself a cup. Tasting it, he grimaced.
"Man, that's crap."
"Yep," answered Singer. "Only the finest for the men in blue."
Henriksen sat down and plopped a folder down in front of him on the table. He sighed.
"These are all the transcripts from the Iniquity staff interviews." He tapped the folder. "Wanna know what we found out?"
"Squat." Singer's voice was flat.
"Yep. Squat." Henriksen took a deep breath and leaned forward with a frown. "Fucking nothing, gentlemen. Nothing. We're at a standstill on this fucking mess."
Sam looked at him, struck afresh by Henriksen's formidable presence. This guy could get very scary very fast, he thought.
Singer spoke in a level voice. "Sam and I think we're going to get--"
"Fuck that! You're getting shit, and you know it!" Henriksen's voice dropped to a menacing growl. "Dean Winchester--"
"It's not Dean!" Sam burst out, surprising himself along with the others. He took a deep breath to regain his control before continuing. "We're starting to think it might not be him behind this. We think someone is dealing drugs inside Iniquity without his knowledge." Henriksen's burning gaze landed on Sam. It made him nervous, but he steeled himself to meet that gaze head-on. "It makes sense as to why this investigation has stalled. We're looking at the wrong person."
A few beats passed. Henriksen sat back and sipped his coffee. "Okay. I'm listening."
* * * DW * * *
"Dean, could we go out for coffee?" Puck asked in a lilting voice, sticking their head around Dean's office door. "I need me some pie! Take me out for pie, please?" They batted their eyes.
Pie was the word that Puck and Dean had agreed on to signify when they needed to speak alone. With not knowing who was involved in the possible drug dealing situation, they didn't want to chance speaking in rooms where they might be overheard or that could be bugged.
Clearly Puck was anxious to speak with Dean, so he put down the papers he'd been studying and gave them a big smile.
"Of course! I'm ready for a coffee break. Let's go to--"
"I heard Ellen's Roadhouse Diner has great pie," Puck interrupted. "I've never been there."
Dean gave them a sharp look, which they returned innocently.
"You got it. Let's go," he said and ushered them out.
They didn't speak until they were seated in one of Ellen's comfortable booths. Steaming cups of coffee sat next to slices of apple pie, the fruit and cinnamon bouquet smelling delicious. Dean hadn't thought he was hungry, but he couldn't resist digging in.
"Okay, so what's up?" he asked after he'd savored the first couple of forkfuls. Puck likewise was enjoying their pie, judging by their blissful expression.
"Wow, this is as good as Kevin promised!" they said. They wiped their mouth with a napkin and took a sip of coffee. "Alright, here's the scoop. I had that scene with Sean and ah, Mr. Snakey and spouse." They winked at Dean. "It was fine, everyone got their happy ending."
"Well, we do aim to please," Dean drawled, and they both laughed. "Go on, sorry."
Puck put their fork down. "When they were leaving, Mr. Snake gave something to Sean. It was some fancy wrapped box, and he handed it to Sean and said, "For your fine work." Mrs. Snake was getting dressed and not paying attention, plus I was helping her find her shoes." Puck snickered. "Things had gotten kinda frisky and she'd kicked them off somewhere."
"Ah, Puck, always the people pleaser," Dean interjected. Puck laughed and gave him a little kick under the table.
"Seriously, though! I asked Sean later about it, because I thought, hey, if it's a tip, I get some. But he just snapped at me and said something about it was personal between him and the Snake."
Dean sat back. "Okay, I get what you're saying here. But what if it was just something personal? Like, um, a new cock cage or something?"
"Ugh! I hate those," Puck grimaced. "Now a nice butt plug, that's fine." They giggled. "You are always great about letting us receive and keep gifts from our clients, but this just made my spidey sense tingle. Like, if it was a sexy toy, Sean would just have laughed it off or shown it to me. Instead, he was all snappy and brittle."
"Hmm," Dean mused. "Sean is usually pretty easy-going. Okay, it's a little weird." He picked at the remains of his pie.
"Right! So here's my idea. Next appointment with Sean and Mr. Snakey, have me take it. As Sean." Puck sat back and took the last enormous forkful of their pie, chewing with a pleased expression.
"Oh, Puck, no." Dean shook his head. "That's too dangerous, if something illegal is actually happening."
"No, I'll be fine." Puck pushed their empty plate away. "Even if he figures out what's going on, which he won't, he's too tight-ass to do anything physical. Besides, you can put extra warding on the room ahead of time, just to be sure. But also have a camera going." For a second, they looked almost feral. "No one is fucking around with my family or my home."
* * * SW * * *
Sam sat on a park bench pretending to be idly observing the people and the birds. He casually smoothed his hands over his jacket and loosened his tie, like someone enjoying a break from their office. He hoped he looked relaxed, because that was the farthest thing from how he felt at the moment.
Dean had texted him earlier that morning, while Sam was still on his first latte.
Need to meet and talk ASAP. Outside, can't risk being overheard.
Sam frowned at his phone. What was going on now? What could Dean have to tell him, and what was up with the cloak and dagger?
Fuck, this just gets messier every day,he thought grimly. He ignored the small thrill he'd gotten when he saw Dean's name come up. Lately, it felt like Sam was becoming more sensitized to Dean again, every contact tingling his nerve endings, like when they were--
Move along, bucko.
Sam texted back, suggesting the park for a lunch rendezvous and mentioning a particular bench that was set on a small rise some yards away from the park's pathway. In plain sight, but away from prying ears.
Cool. I'll bring lunch, Dean replied.
Now Sam sat and waited somewhat anxiously for his impromptu lunch date.
Dean appeared on the path as it wound out from the trees. He looked relaxed as he approached the bench, strolling along like he had no cares in the world. A handled brown paper bag that bore the logo of The Roadhouse dangled from one hand, and Sam's stomach grumbled in response. He hadn't been able to eat after receiving Dean's text, and it was ready for some of Ellen's home cooking.
"Hey, glad you could get together," Dean said, plopping onto the bench. He waggled the bag. "I brought lunch, just like I promised." Putting the bag down to one side, he reached in it and pulled out two cardboard take-out containers. He handed one to Sam and placed the other in front of himself.
"What--" Sam said, but Dean interrupted him.
"Chicken Caesar salad, no anchovies. And a bottle of sparkling water." Dean produced napkins and plastic forks. "Lunch is served."
Sam opened his container and practically drooled at the contents. The salad boasted chunks of grilled chicken atop crisp greens, with a little container of dressing tucked into the side. The container was split, so the golden fries, dusted with salt, were kept separate from the moist salad.
"Wow, this looks amazing. Thank you." Sam wasted no time digging in.
"You bet," Dean said. "I know it's been a long time, but I figured I remembered what you like." He opened his own container and grinned at the plump cheeseburger inside, crispy bacon ends sticking out from underneath the bun. "Yeah, baby, come to Papa!"
Sam snorted, resolutely ignoring how Dean's lustful appreciation of his lunch had made Sam's dick twitch. He mentally scolded his errant member--he was really going to have to get past this whole prurient-flashback thing.
They ate for a few minutes, a companionable silence between them. With all the tension and conflict in their present-day interactions, Sam had forgotten how easy it was to just be around Dean. Now, in this at least temporary lull, it was restful.
Dean finished his last bite and sighed happily. Sam laughed.
"Hey," Dean huffed. "I was hungry."
"Yeah, me too. So much is going on, I'm forgetting to actually take time to eat. Or else my stomach can't deal with the thought of food." Sam grimaced.
Dean's face sobered. "Yeah, I hear you. We gotta talk now. I thought we could use a break for a few minutes there, but shit is going down and we need to put our heads together." He wiped his hands and dropped the napkin into his empty container, picking the whole thing up and putting it back into the brown paper bag.
Sam did the same. As he dropped the container into the bag, he looked at Dean. A slight smear of bacon grease lingered on Dean's bottom lip. Sam's breath caught at seeing that shine on the plump pink swell of Dean's mouth. Without a conscious decision, Sam reached out and ran the pad of his thumb over Dean's lip. It was soft and yielding under the pressure, and Sam almost groaned aloud from the desire that surged through him.
Dean's eyes went wide and he froze, staring at Sam. Then he jerked away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Oh, god, uh . . . you had . . . " Sam stammered.
"Uh, gotcha," Dean mumbled, turning away to put the bag on the ground at his feet. When he turned back, his face was without expression.
Oh great, way to go, asshole, Sam chastised himself. "Sorry, man, I. . . "
"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. Listen, I came here to tell you something important." Dean was clearly all business again, his jaw tense and his eyes shuttered.
"Yeah, of course. Go ahead." Sam tried to quell the thrumming inside him from the soft heat of Dean's tempting mouth and pay attention to his brother's words.
"We--my senior staff and I--think there is in fact drug dealing going on inside Iniquity. But I'm not involved and I didn't know about it." Dean frowned. "That being said, I don't hold with it and I won't stand for it in my house."
"Okay, noted." Sam gave a short nod.
Dean continued without acknowledging Sam's response. "Our current theory is that a regular client is bringing the drugs into Iniquity and using one of my people to disperse them." Dean's frown deepened. "I hate to think someone I've taken in, someone I trusted, would do that, but I'm not stupid. I'm not going to ignore evidence."
Sam nodded again to show he was following along."Do you have any suspicions or ideas who it is doing either end of the job?"
"Yes." Dean looked away, and Sam felt sympathy for his pain. The betrayal from one of his own people had to sting. "On our end, we think it's a man called Sean. You met him the night you came in to throw down your gauntlet."
Sam recalled Sean, a big redheaded man who'd eyed Sam lasciviously. "Yeah, I remember him. And the one bringing it in?"
Dean's eyes returned to Sam's, the intensity of his gaze palpable.
"The Honorable Judge Richard Roman."
* * * DW * * *
Dean looked at the HD television mounted on the side wall of his office. Currently, it showed a lovely bedroom furnished with a king-size bed, an armoire, and a comfortable armchair next to a small coffee table. Deep burgundy bed linens matched the burgundy leather of the armchair and contrasted warmly with the cream-papered walls. All of the wood in the room was black, including the St. Andrews cross in the far corner.
The room was empty, but Dean knew that was about to change. This room was the set where Sean would be entertaining Dick Roman, AKA the Honorable Richard Roman, an esteemed judge on the bench. Roman was a regular customer at Iniquity, and his constant business had helped harden Dean's attitude about 'justice' and 'morality'. Dean felt that justice meant bad guys getting punished and morality meant you were honest and didn't harm others as far as you could help. That the judge, among many other civil servants, chose to indulge his sexual appetites with prostitutes didn't make him a bad person. That he pretended to be happily married to his equally mendacious wife did. Additionally, now, he might be dealing dangerous and illegal substances under Dean's unknowing nose, under Dean's roof. That definitely made him a bad guy.
And Dean was out to prove it.
"When's he going to get here?" grumbled Benny, shifting uneasily on Dean's couch.
"Any minute now," Madison answered. "He's very punctual." She'd insisted on being present for the show. "I'm responsible for my people," she'd told Dean firmly. "I need to know what is going on." He'd acquiesced, with a caveat.
"You are not going to enter that room no matter what. That's up to Benny and me, if necessary." He gave her a stern look. "If you can agree to that, you can stay."
She hadn't looked happy, but she'd nodded. "Understood."
Dean couldn't stay seated, jumping up from his chair to pace around his office, then sitting again for five minutes.
"Merde, would you stop that stupid pacing!" Benny snapped. Dean jerked his head around and looked at his lieutenant. Benny was ordinarily one of the mellowest people he knew, so clearly the stress was getting to him as much as Dean. He walked back to his chair and dropped down into it.
"Sorry."
Benny waved a hand. "I apologize, my brother. I just--" he grimaced.
"I hear you," Dean replied grimly.
Madison got up and went to the sidebar, pouring all three of them a stiff drink. Bringing them back to their seats, she handed one to each man and took a gulp of her own.
"I know we need clear minds, but we also need to not kill each other in the meantime," she commented with a wry grin.
Dean snorted and took a drink. He looked up when Kevin entered the room. It turned out that Kevin, a whip-smart Advanced Placement student, had a good bit of technical know-how, and he'd been invaluable with setting up the equipment to record that night's action.
"We're all set," Kevin said. "The camera is hidden in the painting." He smiled. "I put it in her eye."
On the wall where the camera was located, facing the bed and cross, hung a copy of Amadeo Modigliani's Reclining Nude, where a beautiful naked woman with creamy skin and black hair lay seductively on a red blanket.
All of them chuckled over Kevin's clever camera placement. Dean tousled the young man's hair.
"You did good."
They settled back in their seats, Kevin taking a seat cross-legged on the floor by Benny.
A few more minutes passed, and then the door of the bugged room opened. Sean entered, followed by Dick Roman. A slight man to begin with, Dick looked even slighter next to the tall, muscular Sean.
"Wonder what he likes to do?" Benny mused.
Dean actually hadn't thought about that. He'd been so focused on nailing the drug smuggling that he'd forgotten he'd have to watch Dick having sex with Sean, or in this case, Puck masquerading as Sean.
"Ugh," he groaned, letting his head drop back onto the couch. "I'm going to need another drink."
* * * SW * * *
"Hey, Sam--why don't you come on over here for that drink?" Dean's voice sounded casual over the phone. Only Sam wasn't supposed to meet Dean for any drink that he knew of, which made his spidey-sense tingle immediately. Dean was trying to tell him something.
"Uh, sure? When's good for you?" he answered in the same casual way.
"Now's good. Use the back entrance, there might be something stuck to the front door. Bring a friend, there's plenty for everybody." The call ended.
Sam stared at his phone. Something stuck to the front door--that was from the old 'stuck to my shoe' code phrase. They'd used that when one of them was being followed, back when they had to elude truant officers or other pursuers. So someone was following Dean? Or maybe spying on him, hence the back door.
Grabbing his suit jacket off the coat hook he'd slung it on earlier, Sam went out to Jo's desk.
"Do you know where Henriksen is?"
She blinked at him. "Um, I think he's in the task room, going over things again."
"Great." Sam put on his jacket. "Listen, I have to go out. But don't tell anyone I'm out, alright?"
Jo tilted her head, looking somewhat confused. "Where will I tell them you are then?"
"Oh, right. Uh, okay, tell them I had a doctor's appointment I forgot about, but I'll be back in a couple of hours."
"Oookay. Where are you really going?" Now she looked worried. "It's not like you to fake where you are like this. Is everything alright?"
"God, I hope so," Sam said fervently. "I hope this is going to clear a lot of things up." Ignoring that he hadn't answered her question, he strode out the door.
Henriksen was indeed in the task room, poring over some files and jotting down notes. He looked up at Sam's hasty entrance.
"There a fire somewhere, Winchester?"
"No sir." Henriksen looked puzzled. Sam rushed on. "I have a doctor's appointment I forgot to note it down on the schedule. I need to discuss it with you. It's, um, a personal matter." He put a finger to his ear and then to his lips. Henriksen's face cleared and he responded with a short nod.
"Of course. Why don't we go get a cup of coffee and you can tell me about it privately," he answered casually. Henriksen got up and followed Sam out the door and out of the building.
Sam drove them to Iniquity, parking around the back of the building.
"I don't know what's up exactly, but it sounds like Dean's got news, and he doesn't want anyone to know. I think he's worried about being bugged or something."
"Got it," replied Henriksen.
They got out of the car and went to the back entrance. Dean was already there waiting for them. He opened the door and beckoned them inside.
"I have a video recording for you to see." Dean motioned for them to follow him, leading them to his office. He gestured to the couch and they sat down. Dean remained standing, holding a remote in his hand.
"Okay, so we--me, Madison, and Benny-- were brainstorming about the theory that drugs are being brought in here and handed off to one of my people for dispersal. I'm furious about that, but that's not the issue right now. We got a lead from inside and so I set up a, well, I guess a sting." He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "Sam, you remember Puck, right?"
Startled to hear that name, Sam said, "Yeah, of course. Do they still work for you?"
"Yes. In fact, they've helped bring a couple of other shapeshifters on board."
"Shapeshifters!" Henriksen exclaimed. "I didn't know you had shapeshifters working here."
"Yes, but that's not the point. We had a suspicion of which client was working with which of my people, so Puck masqueraded as the talent in question for an engagement with the client." Dean waved a hand toward the television. "That's what I have on tape. Because we were right."
The television screen came to life. Sam saw Sean, the redhead from his earlier contretemps at the Iniquity bar, enter the tastefully decorated bedroom. Following him was a shorter, slighter man with dark hair and an excellent suit. He was carrying a slim metal briefcase, which he put down at the foot of the bed. Sean turned around and knelt down at the dark-haired man's feet, bending down to kiss his shoes.
"Oh man, really?" Victor said with distaste.
Dean shrugged. "Everyone's got their own thing. This man's kink is control. The turn-on isn't his shoes being kissed, it's that he can make the man do it."
"Okay," Victor replied. "Still don't like it."
"Shh. Who is that guy? Something looks familiar about him." Sam leaned forward, studying the television intently. The trim form, the smooth dark hair--
"Rise," said the dark-haired man, and Sean stood up. "Undress." Sean began to remove his clothing. As he did, the dark-haired man came further into the room, walking over to an armoire on the far wall. Opening it, he took something out.
“Ah, are we going to watch these two have sex? Is that pertinent to the case?” Victor asked.
“No,” Dean answered. “I'm going to fast forward.” He grimaced. “Believe me, be glad I’m sparing you that.”
Sam shuddered.
The video turned into streaky, unidentifiable images as Dean fast-forwarded. A few moments later, he clicked again and the screen cleared. Sean was now naked, sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed. The dark-haired man, his back to the camera, was already back in his clothes, for which small mercy Sam was grateful. Then the man turned around and went over to the metal briefcase and opened it.
Sam gasped, speechless.
"Oh my God," breathed Henriksen. "It's Judge Roman."
Dick Roman removed a wrapped package about the size of a shirt box from the briefcase and handed it to Sean, who nodded and took it.
"I'll tell booking to set up an appointment for us for next week." Roman closed the briefcase. "You were exceptionally good tonight, Sean. I'll leave a tip with Madison."
"Thank you, sir." Sean dropped onto the floor on his knees. "It's my pleasure to please you."
"Good boy," Roman said, and walked out the door.
Sean remained on his knees for a count of ten. Raising his head, he winked at the camera.
* * * SW * * *
"May I have your attention, please," Henriksen spoke authoritatively into the microphone placed on the police podium. He, Police Chief Singer, Crowley, and Sam were assembled on the steps of the courthouse for a press conference. Various media people were arrayed a few steps down with an arsenal of video cameras and microphones aimed at the podium. Sam stood slightly off to one side, listening to Henriksen speak but watching the crowd. His suit felt stifling, like a well-tailored straitjacket.
"Is it true that you're investigating Judge Richard Roman?" a reporter yelled out. A buzz of comments and questions from the other reporters swelled, and Sam heard Roman's name repeated again and again.
"Please! Quiet down," Henriksen ordered, raising one hand. As silence fell, he put his hand back down and answered, "Yes, we have opened an investigation into possible improper conduct by Judge Roman, including criminal charges. We're still pursuing an investigation into a death at the house of prostitution known as Iniquity, and in the course of that, found the possibility of significant judicial malfeasance. I now turn to Police Chief Robert Singer to update us on the investigation of the untimely death of Alicia Banes, and what evidence has been brought to light so far along those lines."
He turned to Singer and gestured to the mic. Singer stepped forward and cleared his throat. For all that Sam had grown up seeing Singer in his police uniform and now the suits he wore as chief, he noted how Singer never looked comfortable in them, preferring instead the worn flannel shirts, blue jeans, and ratty ball cap he favored on his days off.
"Now y'all know I hate this kind of dog and pony show," Singer began. "The death of Alicia Banes looks to be more a matter of unfortunate circumstances rather than murder or even manslaughter. Her demise was not due to criminal activities or hostile intent, but rather being caught in crossfire during the search for the truth." A murmur ran through the reporters. "What's more pressing is the uncovering of this alleged judicial misconduct that reaches into the highest level of our legal system. Despite the big names and high profiles involved, I assure you that the police department is conducting a thorough investigation as we would with anyone charged with this kind of illegal and frankly unsavory behavior." He paused. "I'm not taking any questions at this time. When we know more, you'll know more."
He stepped back, and Crowley moved forward for his turn. He growled as he had to lower the mic to compensate for his short stature, glaring at everyone in general.
"Ahem, yes. Thank you." He cleared his throat. "We at the District Attorney's office are greatly perturbed about these allegations concerning Judge Roman. These are serious charges indeed, and we are treating them as such. We'll be cooperating and coordinating with the police inquiry in any way we can. Furthermore, we're prepared to take any necessary legal action, regardless of the perpetrator's standing, following the results of that investigation."
He adjusted the knot of his tie while he looked over the reporters. Sam knew Crowley liked to gauge the reaction to his words so he could tailor them to the listeners. With a certain grim amusement, Sam noted how Crowley was even preening a bit as he resumed speaking.
"As District Attorney, I assure you that I had no inkling of any improper conduct transpiring. I vow to see that our legal bench is cleaned up. There's no room for back door deals or favoritism resulting in any criminal capacity in this city. I will see that it's cleaned up and that it stays clean!" He nodded as a pattering of applause broke out and stepped back.
Holy shit, is he prepping a campaign announcement here? Sam thought in amazement. He wouldn't put it past Crowley--the man had brass balls.
Henriksen was back at the mic now.
"Thank you for attending here today. Again, we will not be taking questions at this time, due to the sensitive and timely nature of our investigations. We'll update you when we have further developments." He waved briefly and moved away from the mic.
The reporters milled around a bit, making Sam think of ants circling while they looked for crumbs. Crowley headed back inside the building, walking slowly so that, Sam was sure, any reporters could easily catch up with him. A couple of them passed by Sam just then, and sure enough, they approached Crowley with questions. Sam shook his head at the smug look on Crowley's face. It was utterly distasteful.
What an asshole. Readying to lobby for a judgeship on the back of Alicia's dead body. Sam felt queasy at the spectacle.
He turned away in disgust and saw Henriksen talking quietly with Singer off to the side of the steps. Singer nodded as he listened, and Henriksen clapped him on the shoulder before turning to walk away.
Sam started to walk over to Singer, curious as to what they'd discussed. Henriksen went down the steps and approached a black car parked by the curb, opening the passenger door and climbing in. The door shut with the heavy sound of an armored car. Sam figured that was standard operating procedure for feds. He watched the car start and begin to pull smoothly into traffic.
A searing tower of red and orange flames erupted from the car, accompanied by a thunderous blast. Great clouds of thick black smoke billowed into the clear blue sky. Sam gasped, momentarily paralyzed by shock, and then he ran toward the car, only to be held back by one of the reporters.
"You can't--it's too hot! Wait for the fire trucks!" the reporter shouted. Sam struggled against him, his instinct to try and rescue the men inside the burning car driving him forward, but the reporter's grip was strong.
"Henriksen--" Sam said, his throat constricting around the word.
"He's already dead." The reporter's voice sounded calm, but when Sam looked at him, he saw the pain of that statement on the man's face. "I saw IEPs go off like this overseas. They--they're ash by now. He didn't have a chance."
He released Sam and ran over to the nearby bushes where he vomited. Sam felt like throwing up as well, but he made himself watch the blazing car.
I have to bear witness to this . . . he thought numbly. We got too close.
The smoke billowed on while Sam vowed that he was going to get whoever was behind Henriksen's ugly, needless death.
On to Part 7